I Could Fall From Heaven
by sardine nightclub
Summary: Buffy is back from heaven, and no one knows except Spike. Where do they go from here?
1. Choice

**CHAPTER 1**

Choice 

For a week afterwards, she didn't speak. No more than was absolutely necessary, anyway. She forced herself to be cheery, to spare a few words for Dawn and the others, but it hurt her tongue to talk. It hurt to move.

She stalked the graveyard, silent as death. Lately it seemed that all she did was patrol. But maybe it just seemed that way because she never ran into anything to slay. And that made it all seem longer. Why was she here, after all, if not to slay? Wasn't that what she was brought back to do?

A twig snapped, and she turned. Well, at least there was one vampire she saw plenty of.

Must be that time for a talk. He wouldn't have been careless enough to make any noise if he didn't want her to hear. Oh goody, Spike one-on-one. Don't have nearly enough of that these days.

"Hullo, Buffy." His eyes were piercing her. "Eaten anything yet today?" Piercing like spears, like his words.

She tried to ignore him, and started to turn back around. As a matter of fact, she _had_ eaten something. Orange juice. With extra pulp. And a cracker.

"This has gotta stop, luv." He crossed the space of dark grass in between them in milliseconds, grabbed her arms roughly. "You think anyone wants to see you wasting away?"

"I don't care what they want." Her tongue felt creaky, like an old door. She nearly swallowed it.

"Yeah, well, I bloody well do. Lord knows why, but somehow I find myself caring about the whole sodding Scooby gang. Funny how that works out. Look, Buffy, you're here. You're back. You can't fucking escape it. They didn't want you back this way, but too bad, the wankers, they fucked up and you are here this way, and hurting and it's their fault." His grip tightened possessively on her arm. "But God, Slayer ... I lost you already and I can't bear to lose you again."

She looked down at his hands gripping her arms. Extracted herself from his grip. "You never had me to lose, Spike."

He sucked air through his teeth. "I know that," he said, "but they did."

She looked away. She wanted to say things to him. _You blame them, do you? Don't fucking tell me you didn't want me back as much as they did. Selfish, you're all so selfish._ But she didn't.

Instead she walked away from him.

He stared after her, wanting to scream, to cry, to kill something, to kill her, to love her.

He didn't have a choice.


	2. Ride

**CHAPTER 2**

_Ride_

It had been awhile, but suddenly there she was, an apparition, a ghost. Except ghosts don't usually sit on motorcycles, do they?

"I wish I knew how to ride something like this," she admitted. "It must have so much power."

He wasn't sure how he was supposed to react. "Gets me from A to B, yeah."

Her finger traced patterns in the leather of the seat. She looked off to the west, focusing on the last beams of the setting sun. He was taking chances these days, he knew, coming out so soon after daylight.

He was close to her, covered her hand with his, stilled its movements. "Come for a ride, pet?" he asked gently.

She nodded. 

Oh, it had power all right. She felt the engine thrumming beneath her as she clutched his middle. She pressed her cheek against the worn leather of his duster.

His hands tightened on the handlebars. He increased the speed, they were flying through the streets, zipping down from the highway. Over the noise of traffic, the deafening hum of the engine, he heard her near-silent whisper:

"Faster."

And they went faster as she tightened her grip around him.

Soon he realized that they were approaching the coast. He slowed the bike, and she lifted her head.

He parked the motorcycle on the side of the road, and she slid off the seat. She walked towards the edge of the cliff, slowly.

He was afraid. "Buffy," he called.

She stopped. Sat down on the grass. She slipped off her shoes and dangled her feet over the edge of the cliff. He untensed a hair when he realized she wasn't about to jump over the edge.

"I try, Spike," she said softly. She didn't turn her head but he heard every word. "I try but it just won't fall into place." Her voice was brittle and monotonic. Not pleading, not whining, just a simple statement of fact. "I think I'm still dead."

"No," he said. He sat down next to her, swung his legs over next to hers. "You're not dead, Summers. Seeing as I'm the vampire of the two of us, I think I'm the more qualified to say who's dead around here."

The corners of her mouth twitched into a ghost of a smile. "How many times have you died, Spike?"

He looked at her, slightly confused. "Once." Swallowed. "You know that."

"I've died twice. Or had you forgotten?" She shuddered. "Twice too many." Her fingers curled, clenching the edge of the rock she sat on.

Carefully, he reached out a hand and touched a lock of her hair. "That you have, luv."

"I thought I could be strong about it, you know? Like it was just another part of being a Slayer. But this time ..."

His fingers moved through her wind-tangle hair, but he kept his distance. All she did was stare out across the ocean. 

"I told them today. That I was in heaven. I told them all. None of them could think of anything to say. I think Willow was crying," she said. Almost as if she was telling him something that had happened on a TV show.

"She didn't know what she was doing, pet, when she ... did what she did."

"No," Buffy said. "No, she didn't."

God, the things he wanted to say to Willow. His teeth clenched and a wave of tension swept briefly through his body.

She must have felt it. He was half ready to get up and go give the witch a piece of his mind, when she leaned just the tiniest bit into his hand still stroking her hair.

"That feels nice," she said softly.

He gazed at her profile, her eyes unwavering, and sighed. And so he stayed. He would stay until the end of time if she asked him to. But they both already knew that.


	3. No Turning Back Now

**CHAPTER 3**

_No Turning Back Now_

Spike opened his fridge and took out a beer. He checked the other bottles on the shelves; hmm, running low. Lately she'd been stopping by at night, sometimes to drink, sometimes to talk. Sometimes both. He snapped the top off his beer and put it to his lips.

Suddenly he knew she was close. A thought affirmed when she kicked open the door.

"Slayer," he greeted her nonchalantly. He settled himself in his chair. "'Fraid there's not much whisky left --"

She stood in front of him, hands on her hips. "Why do I come here, Spike?"

He was as much startled by her interruption as by the question itself, and didn't answer. 

"I mean, it's not like I don't have other things to do," she said, wondering out loud. She started pacing. "Demons to slay and all. Vamps like yourself to hunt down and kill. Never mind the fact that said demons are still scarce and I am about to tear my hair out for lack of purpose. I shouldn't be coming here every other night to get drunk with you." She stopped pacing. "But I do." He realized before she did that her eyes were tearing. "Why?"

"Luv, I don't know," he said helplessly. "Been wondering that myself, in fact." His eyes widened as she slowly came closer and closer to him. "Uh, Buffy, what are you doing?"

She stood right in front of his chair, swaying. Then she dropped down to his lap, straddling him. "I don't know," she said. Her eyes were blank and empty. "Trying to figure it out."

Her mouth descended upon his and he stopped caring. His hands slid up her sides. She could already feel his erection straining against his jeans. She flicked her tongue into his mouth, bit his lip. He moaned against her.

_This what you want, Spike?_ Her thoughts came hazy, from far away, as she pulled back and lifted her shirt over her head. No bra. _Let's see if it's what I want too._

He couldn't take his eyes off of her. Not that there was anything else remotely intersting in the room to draw his attention anyway. Perfect, she was perfect ...

She kissed him again, hard, in charge. He was really hard now, it was starting to get painful. Her hand drifted down to his waist and started undoing his belt buckle.

"Slayer," he rasped desperately, "what are you doing?"

"You asked that already, Spike." Belt was off, now for the pants. "Don't tell me you don't want it."

"No -- Buffy --" he started, but she stopped his mouth with another harsh kiss. His pants were open, his cock bobbing up to attention. She took it in her hands and started pumping him, slowly. He gasped as he felt her hot little hands on him. _Bloody -- fucking --_

His hands clenched on her skin, where he was holding her shoulders. She glanced at them, already feeling the bruises forming. She felt him heaving breaths out of his dead lungs beneath her. Funny, that, how he still breathed sometimes. She wondered if it was something done with a conscious effort on his part.

"Buffy --" he forced out, "I can't -- can't hold it -- oh fuck --"

She took her hands away. She stepped off of him and shed her jeans and panties. She stood for a second, completely naked in front of him, before descending on him once more.

Spike gasped as his cock touched her slick entryway. She rubbed herself against him a few times, and his eyes rolled back into his head. Then with a swift movement she plunged down, hissing as she took him all the way in. She ripped open his shirt so she could scratch his nails down his chest. He knew this wasn't right, this wasn't how it should be happening, but in spite of himself he held her hips as she slowly moved up and down. He couldn't believe how good she felt.

Buffy closed her eyes and rolled her head back, losing herself in their combined motions. Now _this_, she thought, this was feeling. 

She grabbed his hand, roughly, and directed it to her clit. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, but circled the small mound with his finger until she mewled with pleasure.

Buffy started panting, her skin flushed and starting to sweat in the chill of the crypt. "Oh god -- oh god, Spike -- mmm, like that, yes --"

_Bloody hell_, Spike wanted to scream. Could this really be her? This, right here in his arms, his Slayer?

She felt her body tensing, readying for the explosion. Her inner muscles started to clench around his cock as she rocked herself back and forth on him. "Ohhh I'm gonna --"

Spike was going to burst, but he wanted her to come first. He started thrusting in earnest, rubbing her clit almost frantically.

She arched her back and let out a scream as her orgasm overtook her. Hearing her, Spike finally let himself go, and came roaring to his own climax. 

He fell back, and she collapsed onto him. They lay panting for a few seconds until Buffy pulled herself up, sliding him out of her. She found her clothes and put them on, taking her time, in no hurry whatsoever. She took a second to run her fingers through her hair, trying to make herself look just a little less like she'd just had a mind-blowing orgasm.

Spike didn't even move; he just watched her, his mouth slightly open. What exaclty had just happened? He couldn't believe she was just going to walk out.

Fully dressed now, she turned around once more to look at him. She studied his face, his open mouth, the confusion and hurt in his cerulean eyes, the pale of his no-longer-heaving chest -- and he thought he saw something, in her eyes, yes, there had to be something --

"Be seeing you then," she said. Mocking. She was always mocking him. Without another glance she walked out, not even slamming the door but closing it perfectly civilly. And he was left sitting there, couldn't even make himself move to fasten his jeans back up, couldn't see anything but her bottomless eyes and the spark that had flared in them when she came, couldn't hear anything but her piercing cry of pleasure and her bitter, mocking last words. There were tears in his eyes, and he hated himself for it.


	4. Midnight Rendezvous

**CHAPTER 4**

_Midnight Rendezvous_

Avoiding her for a week had been harder than he'd expected. She kept seeking him out. For what? That was obvious.

It was his turn now. He couldn't believe he'd been reduced to something as juvenile as flinging pebbles up at her window. He felt like a bloody teenager. 

She stuck her head out, blonde tresses mussed from sleep but eyes bright and wide. "Spike," she murmured, so softly that only a vampire could hear it from that distance.

"We have to talk, Slayer," he called softly.

She nodded, and pulled her head back inside. Within minutes she was standing in front of him wearing a tank top and a pair of Dawn's boxers.

"Finally done with avoiding me, William?" she aksed, cocking an eyebrow at him. "I told you I'd be seeing you."

He gritted his teeth. "Of course you bloody would be seeing me, Slayer. We established long ago that I'm a part of your life now."

"Of course," she said brightly, "but that was before I went six feet under and before I clawed my way back up."

He stared at her. "Christ, Slayer ... Buffy. This isn't you."

"No," she said, moving towards him, "it isn't me." Her bare feet sank into the damp and springy grass with every step. "That me is dead, remember?"

He couldn't move. _Bloody hell, not again._

She put a hand on his chest, rolled her head back sensually. "I can feel the empty space, Spike. Where your heart should be. Empty space, like you -- and empty shell of a killer. Emtpy like me."

He started to speak but quick as lightning she reached up and bit his ear, stopping him from uttering any sound resembling words. She took his hand and placed it on the curve of her breast. "Want this again, Spike?" she asked throatily. "It's still yours." She moved closer and gyrated herself lightly against him.

The rage swelled up in him again. He was tired of this girl making a fool out of him. He grabbed both her arms and slammed her against the side of the house. "Mine, are you?" he growled. "Shall I take what's mine, then? You want me to take you right here under your sister's window?"

"Maybe," she laughed. "It doesn't matter anyway."

"What the hell does that mean?" he snapped, voice angry but body more than eager ...

... A fact that she quickly noticed. "Means you'd take me anyway," she whispered. "Anywhere." She laughed. "You havn't been able to get me out of your mind one bit since last week."

He clenched his teeth together, hollowing his cheekbones even more as he stepped closer to her, his erection nudging her stomach, making her squirm. "Know what, Slayer?" he said. "You're right. I haven't been able to get you out of my mind. I think about you every -- bleeding -- second." With each word he pressed closer to her, eliciting tiny moans. "And you know what?" he asked.

She opened her eyes and looked into his. He licked his lips. "I think," he said, leaning close to her ear, "you feel the exact same way." He nipped at her earlobe.

She didn't bother to deny or confirm, just attacked his mouth with a bruising kiss, ripping open his jeans.

He fucked her hard against the side of the house, while Dawn lay half-awake above, wondering drowsily what kind of animals were making those weird thumping noises.


	5. Shards

**CHAPTER 5**

_Shards_

She left him a note and a pile of broken glass.

_I'm shattered. Come for me and put me back together._

He picked up a shard and crumbled it in his fingers, licked the blood off. She never could resist a good double entendre these days.

The Wicca birds were, out, he knew, on some sort of spiritual camping trip or such; and the Nibblit was sleeping over at a friend's. Even the whelp and the demon-girl were out of town for a few days, and Watcher-boy was no doubt safely tucked up at home with a cup of tea. She'd planned well.

The scent was heady when he pushed open the door to her house. He wondered what kind of incense she'd gotten for the occasion. "Really going all out, aren't you, Slayer?"

He didn't expect an answer, but he knew where she was. Clomped up the stairs and slowly pushed open the door to her room.

There were candles everywhere, just like in his crypt. She lay on her bed, dressed in an incredibly complex-looking black and cream, lace and leather number he'd never expected to see her wear, even in his wildest dreams. But then again, these days, dreams were getting hard to tell from reality.

She pouted at him. "Don't you like the mood setting?" she asked petulantly.

He grinned. Shrugging off his coat, he saw that there was no incense after all. The smell was all her.

Slowly, carefully, he divested himself of boots, shirt and belt. She ran her fingers up and down her torso, watching him.

"This gonna become a habit, Slayer?" he asked. "You laying here in your bed, fulfilling my wildest fantasies?"

She grinned. "Maybe." Gave a shrug of those beautiful shoulders. "Or maybe I just want you to fuck me."

He laughed out loud at that. "Luv," he said, "you know you don't have to get all dolled up for me to want to shag you bloody senseless. Every waking moment I just want to be inside you."

She didn't seem to be listening. Her eyes were clenched shut all of a sudden. She trembled, a light vibration of her body that he felt in the air.

"Slayer?" he asked. "Buffy?" he tried again, when she didn't respond.

Her eyes shot open. "Shut up and screw me, vampire," she muttered. Dragged him down to her, ripped open his jeans and her own corset. She left her stockings on in her haste to get him inside her. He wondered briefly what on earth happened to the foreplay before surrendering himself to her hot, tight body. They went at it again and again, and each time her screams were louder. But as she slept and Spike lay awake afterwards, they echoed in his brain like the hollow, shrill sounds of glass breaking into millions of useless shards. He didn't think he'd ever be able to fix her. 

a/n: I promise it's not all porn ... there'll be a little more plot in the next chapter. Really, I promise ...


	6. Restless Nights

**CHAPTER 6**

_Restless Nights_

Buffy lay awake with wide eyes, staring at the ceiling. The fan was whirring lazily but it did nothing to cool her disquieted body.

The lack of other human prescence in the room weighed down on her ears and nose, as if she was underwater. She gasped for breath and felt crowded in the empty room.

With swift movements she shot out of bed and dressed. She climbed quickly out of her window so she wouldn't wake Dawn, and dropped silently to the ground, stake in hand.

She found Spike sitting on top of a tombstone near his crypt, smoking. He was studying the sky. "Unusually warm weather we're having, don't you think?" he asked without looking at her as she approached him.

"I suppose," she answered. She breathed in the smell of his cigarette. "Come patrolling with me?"

He glanced at her. "I don't want -- I don't feel like being alone," she said. With her wide eyes she told him not to question any further.

He obeyed. "All right then, pet," he said, ducking his head. He stubbed out his cigarette and followed her.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked after some time.

"No," she answered simply. 

He smirked a little. "Thinking about me?" he asked. "Lying awake, thinking of the things I do to you --"

She stopped dead in her tracks, but he couldn't be sure if it was because of his words or because of the vampire rising a few feet away. Either way, she took off running. He felt himself hardening as he watched her fight; he couldn't help it. She was so fierce.

She finally staked the vamp and didn't even look back, advancing towards Spike. She slammed him into the side of the nearest crypt. "Don't even think," she said in between sticking her tongue into his ear "that you" she nipped at his earlobe "have ANY such effect" bit his lower lip "on me." She moved down to his neck and teased his skin with her tongue before biting down, making him growl.

"Oh, is that so?" he smirked. He slid his hands into her jeans, seeking out her heat and running his fingers through the silky wetness. "That why you're so wet for me?" he asked mockingly.

She responded by grinding her hips mercilessly against him. "That why you're so hard for _me_?" she retorted.

He groaned, but then sighed and pushed her away. That wasn't what she'd expected.

"You can't keep doing this, Buffy," he told her.

Shock quickly turned to anger. "_I_ can't keep doing this? What about you, _Spike_, with your innuendos and come-ons and chest and sexy hands? It takes two to fucking tango, you know."

He cocked his head at her. "You think I'm sexy?" he asked coyly.

She opened her mouth, but whatever she'd meant to say failed.

He gave a wry chuckle. "Look, pet ... hard as it is for me to say this, and bloody weird as it feels, I think we need some time apart."

It wasn't until he was walking away that she found her voice. "_Time apart_? You're telling _me_ we need _time apart_?" She ran her hands through her hair in frustration. "God, does my life suck ..."

He looked over his shoulder at her, hunching slightly over, hands clutched in her hair. "Hey," he said, "Slayer ... you all right?"

Her body was shaking, and at first he thought she was cyring. Then she raised her head and he realized it was laughter. "Of course, of course I'm all right. Why on earth wouldn't I be? I haven't died twice or anything, I'm not having sex with the evil undead or something crazy like that. No, my life is perfect and normal and happy." He'd walked back to her, close enough to touch. She grabbed his shirt. "Spike, why do I feel like this?"

He wasn't sure what she wanted to hear. "I don't know, luv ..."

"Stop calling me that." She released his shirt and started pacing back and forth.

He stopped her, smirking. "So, uh ... what exactly should I call you then?" he asked. "Sweetheart? Lover?" He reached out and ran a hand through her hair. "Goldilocks?"

She watched his hand our of the corner of her eye. "Buffy," she said finally. "Call me Buffy."

He looked deep into her eyes, and she shivered. "Buffy," he said. "This has to end." This time, when he walked away, she didn't follow.


	7. Dance With Me

**CHAPTER 7**

_Dance With Me_

"Are you sure you're gonna be all right?" Willow asked, concerned. 

"Positive," Buffy told her. "I'm just feeling a little under it ... probably just lack of sleep."

"We could stay ..." Xander said.

"Please, no. I'm _fine_. Go have fun. The Bronze will still be the Bronze without Buffy," she insisted. "I'll see you guys tomorrow."

Dawn gave her a quick hug. They left.

As soon as she heard Xander's car wheels squeal away, she threw off the covers. She wasn't really sick. She just wanted time alone. To think. About ... stuff.

She would have liked to go to the Bronze, really she would have. But lately hanging out with the gang had been suffocating her. They all cared, they all cared so much that it really was hard to find herself again, to just be Buffy ...

She stood up and headed for her closet. She slipped out of her sweatpants and tank top and pulled out a dress she'd bought a very long time ago but never really worn. She gazed at it for a moment before slipping it over her head.

Within an hour she was dancing. And she was almost smiling. The music here was loud and rough and wild, something she could never share with her friends, so different and far from them but oh so right to her at that moment. Her eyes were closed. A thought was drifting up to her consciousness -- _I wish Spike was here_.

She stopped moving, snapped open her eyes. "No, I _don't_," she said to herself, vehemently, but the music was so loud nobody heard.

Except for one, supernatural pair of ears. He watched her shake with denial, biting that gorgeous lower lip. He wouldn't have expected her to be here. But then again, what couldn't he expect from this Buffy?

She was so beautiful, he realized for the thirty-seventh time that day. Standing in her blood-red dress, absurdly short and tight, distancing her pain with the distraction of looking impossibly sexy. Hair all about her, pefect waves coming undone with her sweat. Eyes ... there they were, green-grey sea, open now, fixed on him.

Buffy almost gasped when she caught sight of him. Instead she bit her tongue, tasting coppery blood.

She looked away, but he was suddenly by her side. _Damn super speed_, she thought weakly. She refused to look at him.

He stood watching her profile, rigid with defiance in spite of the pounding music. He thought of words to say but knew she didn't want him to speak. Instead he raised his hand, slowly, brushing her shoulder, running along her hair, moving around behind her still form, listening to her breath quicken.

He stood in front of her now. She still wouldn't look up, afraid he would see what even she didn't know, in her eyes.

He curled his fingers against hers. Slowly she responded, and their hands locked. He brought her hand up, around, to the back of his neck. She held him there, fingers finding the hair at the nape of his neck. His other hand slid around and held onto the small of her back, drawing her to him, while hers slid up to rest on his chest. She stared at it.

"You don't have to think, pet," he whispered in her ear. "I just want to dance with you."

She hadn't even noticed that the song had changed.

_Nobody could hurt me  
Like I know she could hurt me  
But there's nothing in this world that I want more_

She blinked. Was it just her or did these lyrics strike just a bit too close to home?

_Nobody could take me  
To the places that she takes me  
Places that I've never been before_

She shivered but he held her tighter. "I've got you," he said softly. "It's just this, now. I've got you."

_With my eyes wide open  
Knowing full well_

I could fall from heaven  
I could fall from heaven  
I could fall  
I could break  
That's the chance that I take  
I could fall

She didn't want to think. She wanted to do like he said. But thoughts wouldn't stop. Usually she came to him to stop the thoughts. Her eyes squeezed shut. She was shaking again.

Before she knew what was happening, a hand was under her chin, lifting. She looked up and into his eyes. It wasn't any kind of revelation or anything, to see that blue again. But she couldn't look away.

_Look at me I'm flying  
A breath away from dying  
Holding on to her and letting go  
As I walk across this wire  
Above a lake of fire  
And lean into the wind that starts to blow_

And she let go of thoughts. They went as easy as a breath. She dropped her head to his chest with a sigh.

_With my eyes wide open  
Knowing full well_

I could fall from heaven  
I could fall from heaven  
I could fall  
I could break  
That's the chance that I take  
I could fall

The crowd was stilling, watching vampire and Slayer locked in an embrace, swaying back and forth. They were electric, they were fire, no one wanted to get too close; and at the same time, every person there felt like they were intruding on something completely tender and private.

Buffy and Spike, however, knew nothing of an audience, or of the sparks that were visible to anyone else. She pressed her slight frame to him, and he closed his eyes, inhaling her scent.

_Do I hide my heart  
Do I lock my door  
Do I tear it out  
So it don't feel no more  
No, I risk it all  
Knowing that_

I could fall from heaven  
I could fall from heaven  
I could fall  
I could fall  
I could fall  
I could fall  
Fall  
Fall

He held her still, as the last chords faded away. The next song that started off was fast and loud and obnoxious, but neither of them heard it.

Spike stepped back, away from her. Her eyes opened and searched his. He saw the questions but didn't answer them.

"Time to stop playing, Slayer," he said softly. "You want to love me, I'm right here. I always have been."

And he left her again, and she was shaking again – with what? Fear, anger, hatred, emotion, desire.

This place had lost its charm. She made her own exit, glancing around for him but of course in vain.

How dare he, she fumed, walking, practically jogging down the street. Presumptuous bastard, as always. He would always think it was all about him. Cocky, insolent, pretentious, conceited, smug, hateful ...

Right?

She growled in frustration and broke into a full-out run. No, she thought fiercely, not right, wrong wrong wrong in every way, impossibly wrong, never right ... he will never be right. Never.

She was crying now, and she was finally home. She collapsed on the back steps, kicking off the boots that were pinching her toes. Sat, remembering the night he'd come meaning to kill her, comforting her instead, right here. She'd wondered why.

She slammed her fists into the wood of the back porch, bruising her knuckles. Wishing she was punching _him_. Wishing she was _touching_ him. She rubbed furiously at her eyes, collecting tears and smearing her mascara even more. Her hair was tangled and damp with sweat, make-up ruined, but who was there to care?

A bitter smile tugged at her lips. Messy hair is the least of your worries, she said to herself sardonically. What with the dying, the heaven, the coming back, the look on your friends' faces when you told them ... and then falling in love with a vampire. Again.

Really, what girl wouldn't be having a bad hair day?


	8. Under The Stars

**CHAPTER 8  
**_Under The Stars_

His body was itching to go to her, to be with her. He was pacing below his crypt, trying to quell the desire. It couldn't go on like this, it was killing both of them, and one of them had to be the stronger one and step back. _And why the fuck was it you, mate?_ he asked himself for the gazillionth time.

_What the hell was that about loving you anyway?_ his brain continued, seemingly determined to make his life even more of a hell at that moment. _You've been close enough to her long enough to see that she'll never love you. You're just a roll in the hay for her, the demon in her sack. Now you've gone and ruined that over some stupid poofy whim –_

He sighed and reached for his bourbon. More than a whim, he retorted to his inner self. This is the real thing. For me, at least ... not for her. And once more I'm left drunk, alone, and room temperature. Should stake myself before I let this happen again ...

Just as he was preparing to drink himself once more into a brief oblivion, he heard the door to his crypt creak open upstairs. He stiffened out of instinct; if she jumped him the way she liked to do, he probably wouldn't be able to stop her or himself, as usual. But hearing the soft footsteps down the ladder, he frowned, and turned around. As expected, it was the Slayer standing there. But at the same time it wasn't. This girl had a look he'd never seen on Buffy's face before, and her make-up was washed away with her tears, leaving her looking innocent and seventeen again.

She seemed to be searching for words. He watched her struggle for several seconds. "You're barefoot," he finally commented offhandedly.

She glanced down. "So I am."

"Your feet will get cold," he told her. The tone of his voice was flat and indiscernible.

"They already are." And hers matched it.

They stared at each other. It was her move, and Spike was waiting.

All of a sudden, Buffy spun around. "Stupid idea ..." she muttered to herself.

He watched her, confused. But what else was new?

And she found herself pausing at the ladder, before her bare feet could take themselves up the rungs. She rested her forehead on the cool stone of the wall beside her, trying to get herself under control.

"Buffy," he said. Not asking, not seducing, simply saying her name as if for the first time.

Thinking is overrated, she told herself. Slowly she turned back to face him. "You're everything I hate, Spike," she told him softly. "You're everything I'm supposed to be against. But the only time I really feel anything is when ..." She drew in a breath, blew it out. "Somewhere," she continued, as if she was figuring it out no sooner than the words could come out of her mouth, "somewhere between ... fucking you, messing with your head, confiding in you ... somewhere along the line, Spike –" and only now did she look into his eyes, "– I think I fell in love with you."

He was still and silent for so long that she thought he hadn't heard her at all, or that she'd just imagined that she'd said it. Then she saw his eyebrow – the one with the scar – give a twitch. "Funny," he croaked. "Good joke there, Slayer. But to tell you the truth I'm not really in the mood for laughs right now."

"Damn it, Spike! Why do you always have to be so goddamn stubborn?"

"Why should I believe you?" he growled. "You've done nothing but torment me. Why would now be any different?"

She lifted her eyes to face him, and their gazes locked. Slowly, as if she was in a daze, Buffy walked towards him. She stood before him and tentatively reached up to touch his face, to trace the contours of his cheekbones. "Because things change," she said softly. "Things don't stay the same forever. People change. And I think you've proven to me –" she rested her hand on his chest, "demons can change too."

He drew in a breath, wanting to believe her. "Buffy, I have no way of knowing whether you'll be here tomorrow or whether these words of yours will be nothing but poppycock, and you'll have had enough of me once and for all. And I –"

She stopped his mouth with a quick kiss. "You're right," she continued as his eyes widened. "You have no way of knowing. You just have to trust me." She was making it impossible for him to look away. "Do you trust me?"

"God, do I want to ..." he said desperately.

She stepped back. The pain in her eyes was too much. "But ... you don't," she said slowly. _There's nothing more to say._ She turned and walked slowly towards the ladder again.

Her foot was on the first rung, and she heard him swear softly – and then just like that, he was behind her, beside her, all around her ... she whipped around just as he crushed his mouth to hers, pushing her back against the wall. Everything they'd ever done before had been hard and bruising, but this was something else. He was slow, languid, passionate ... romantic. She felt her body responding in ways it never had before. _This is the man I love ..._

She pushed him back. "I love you, Spike," she said forcefully, a slight tremor still in her voice. But truth was there too, and undeniable, and Spike stood staring at her for several seconds before the most dazzling smile spread over his face.

"Falling in love with a vampire," he tutted her, gently teasing. Before she realized what he was doing he had swept her off her feet in one smooth motion. She giggled, her arms locked around his neck. "Now you _know_ that's wrong." He carried her to his bed and set her gently on the satin sheets.

"Maybe so," she said, smiling, "but for the moment ..." she gasped as he lowered his head to gently suck on her jugular. Her fingers curled in the hair at the nape of his neck and she pulled him up to look at her. "It feels oh so right," she finished breathlessly.

His lips were parted, he was breathing hard. He was breathing? "Why are you breathing?" she asked him.

"I don't know," he confessed slowly. "And I don't care." Before she knew it he was kissing her, he was _kissing_ her ... it was slow, and it was unbearably sweet. He gently explored her lips and mouth with his tongue, engaging her in the sensual dance.

He laid her down on her back on his bed. She started to swiftly pull her dress over her head, too used to the hurried sex they usually had, but he stopped her. "There's no hurry, pet," he said, kissing her fingers. "I want to make slow, blinding, amazing love to you, Buffy."

She let out a little moan at his words, and allowed him to kiss his way along her jaw, agonizingly slow. His mouth traveled down to her shoulder, and he bit the thin shoulder strap of her dress, teasingly tugging it down with his teeth. Those little moans kept escaping from her, and finally he had the dress off and tossed it aside. For a moment he simply hovered above her, drinking in the sight of her golden body, dressed in only a pair of black bikini briefs.

"My god, Buffy," he said softly. "You have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?"

She blushed. After all they'd done, all he'd said to her, she blushed when he said she was beautiful. He fell in love with her even more.

He leaned in to kiss her again, as her hands worked on his shirt, desperately trying to undo the many buttons. Finally it was off and sliding down his shoulders, and she ran her hands up and down his arms and chest.

She broke away from the kiss, laughing. "Are you purring?" she asked.

How did he manage a look that was both adorably sheepish and completely sexy at the same time, she wondered. "Guess so, luv."

"Mmmm," she said, pulling him back. "I like it."

His hand was tracing its way back up her thigh, thumb hooking in her panties and tugging them down. She fumbled to undo his belt. He dipped his hand between her legs, finding her already wet. He stroked and gently caressed her, as she moaned and softly thrashed, loving his touch, loving him.

He was so hard just at the sight of her like this, and the thought that this time, it was so much more than physical.

His fingers had found her clit, and were pinching and rubbing in the most amazing way, when her eyes opened and she shoved his hand away. She locked her legs around his middle.

"I need to feel you inside me," she whispered.

He needed no encouraging. Gently, slowly, slower than he'd ever gone before, he slid himself into her. They both gasped; they'd had each other so many times, but tonight was infinitely different.

Spike began to pump, slowly but surely. She locked her legs tighter, pressing him closer, urging him deeper. 

"Oh god," she moaned. He was so deep, deeper than she'd ever let him go. And she could feel him to close to that spot, that sweet spot that none of the others had ever touched. He moaned, and pulled back, almost all the way out, before thrusting completely back in again.

Her eyes shot open as she felt the tip of his cock hit her g-spot. "Yes, baby, come for me Buffy," he murmured. He pulled back again, till just the head of his cock was enveloped in her pussy, then rammed back in. She gasped loudly. "Yes, yes, yes," she moaned, tossing her head from side to side.

His eyes rolled back into his head. "Buffy ..." he groaned. "Come for me, luv, I want you to scream ..."

"Spike!" she gasped. He was pumping faster, each thrust hitting that spot just the right way, the pleasure was so unbearable ... "Oh God, yes!" she wailed.

His teeth clenched, he threw his head back. "Slayer," he groaned.

"Spike!" she cried again. With one last thrust, the dam broke in both of them and they let out simultaneous howls.

She lay panting underneath him as he remained sheathed in her, both of them unwilling to give up the contact.

"God," she breathed, "that was –"

"Yeah," he said.

"I – "

"You – "

They both laughed. Spike's head was laying on her shoulder, and she ran a hand through his sweat-soaked curls. "When did this get so right?"

"It's always been right for me, pet," he murmured, kissing her neck.

"I know," she said. "But ... it hasn't been right for me." She looked at him solemnly. "I was messed up ... maybe I still am. But I know I was using you, Spike. I know how I was treating you, and it wasn't good. I'm sorry ... I'm so sorry, Spike ..."

"Here now," he said softly, wiping with his knuckle at the tears beginning to fall, "don't cry, Slayer."

"I'm just sorry," she whispered again as she buried her face against him.

"I know, pet," he soothed. "And I forgive you. Sometimes I hated your guts, but I never stopped loving you. It doesn't matter at all."

"God, I love you," she said.

Another slow grin spread across his face. "I shall never get tired of hearing that," he declared.

"I really thought she'd be ... well, over it by now," Willow said with a sigh.

"Well, you did snatch her out of heaven, can't forget that," Anya reminded her.

Willow glared at her and rolled her eyes. "Thanks ever so much, Anya, I'd completely forgotten. I know she was heaven, I just ... I mean, it's been nearly five months. And sometimes she seems ..."

"Completely normal," Xander finished.

"Yes," Willow frowned.

"But she's not," Giles said solemnly.

"It's hard to imagine just how she felt ... how she feels," Anya agreed.

"But you gotta admit," Xander insisted, "there are times when she really is happy, when she looks at us and talks to us and she's our Buffster again."

Tara stood by the front window of the store. She wasn't sure exactly what to say at this particular Scooby meeting. She'd studied Buffy, quietly, perhaps more closely than any of them. Xander was right, there were times when Buffy was fully alive again, but there were times when she might as well be a walking corpse ... which, in a way, she kind of was. The changes were extreme and mysterious. Tara sighed quietly, and gazed out the window onto the moonlit, empty street.

"Yes ..." Giles said slowly, "yes, you're right, Xander. But those moments of happiness are not getting any more frequent. She's not going anywhere with them; she's stuck in one place."

"Right. So, what I propose we do is find just what the source of this goodness is," Xander declared.

Willow gave him a skeptical look. "Xander, you have no way of knowing that her moments of happiness are caused by just one thing."

"No, but they might be."

Staring outside, Tara was startled to see a couple walking down the street – who in Sunnydale would be taking a lover's stroll at this time of night? But as the couple came closer, their faces became clearer. Tara's eyes widened, but after the initial shock she gave a small smile. Who _else_ would be taking a lover's stroll at this time of night?

"That's not much of a plan, Xander."

"Come on, honey, back me up!"

"Why? You never back _me_ up."

Buffy and Spike walked slowly down the deserted street, hands clasped, heads inclined slightly towards one another. Sharpening her Sight, Tara looked at the couple through a seer's eyes. Neither one of their individual auras showed at all; both were covered by a gentle yet steel-strong pink glow, shimmering with promise.

"I do _too_ back you up! An, come on –"

"Anya, Xander, for god's sake, would you two _please_ stop behaving like squalling infants –"

"Tara?" Willow interrupted the growing argument to peer up towards the front of the shop. "What are you doing up there?"

Tara watched as Spike pulled Buffy closer to him and laid a gentle kiss on her temple, before tearing her eyes away and looking at her girlfriend. "Nothing, sweetie," she said with a slightly secretive smile. "Just looking at the stars. They're beautiful tonight."

Buffy and Spike, Slayer and vampire, girl and boy, continued down the bare street, entwined with one another and oblivious to everything, under the nearly full moon and a vast, clear canopy of stars.


End file.
